


Tides

by fansofcollisions



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (nothing explicit), Angst, Blow Jobs, M/M, Relationship Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 00:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2448956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fansofcollisions/pseuds/fansofcollisions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamaguchi’s mouth is on his throat, and somehow it feels like he’s parched and he’s drowning all at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tides

He’s got a way about him that reminds Tsukishima of sand: unthreatening at first glance, but let your feet get caught up and he’ll bite your ankles and pull you down until flight is just a sluggish stumble, each step slower than the last. Tsukki doesn’t like being held down. He doesn’t like the feeling he’s tethered himself to something he can’t run from.

And yet here they are. Yamaguchi’s mouth is on his throat (exposed, vulnerable) and somehow it feels like he’s parched and he’s drowning all at once. 

He knows he doesn’t have the right to complain, since he initiated this whole… thing, whatever this is. A hormonal aberration. He told himself he didn’t want anything to do with it - Yamiguchi’s breathless affection and fluttering hands and the way his eyes would light up at every little shard of decency tossed his way (pathetic) - right up until the moment his hand was curling through salt-soaked strands of hair and he could taste sweat and stale water on the lips against his own. It was so stupid, a moment of weakness that he can’t take back, and now he can’t stop his hands from trembling with the want to push him away and the need to pull him closer (who’s pathetic?) and he hates, hates, _hates_ this. He curls his fingers into the sheets and doesn’t do either.

He’s trapped, and it’s all his fault in the first place, because when every sign says DANGER: QUICKSAND you can’t blame the beach for swallowing you whole.

Those fluttering hands are slipping beneath his shirt now, setting off quakes as they slide up over taut muscles. The fan in the corner of the bedroom stirs a steady breeze over the newly exposed skin and he shivers.

How many times have they done this? Five? Six? He’s never returned the favour. He figures Yamaguchi will ask if he wants something more. Or maybe he won’t, his common sense snaps, and he tastes something bitter slick at the back of his jaw as Yamaguchi’s lips press soft kisses into his abdomen. Further down now. Relationships are supposed to be give and take, he knows that, but this isn’t a relationship. Even entertaining the notion binds his heart in jagged rope.

A shower of sparks shoot down his neck, shoulders, arms, straight into the tips of his fingers and Tsukishima lets his head fall back against the wall behind him with a _thunk_. He wants to put his hand across his mouth, to keep the treacherous little pants at bay but that would mean releasing his grip on the sheets and he might do something stupid like grab Yamaguchi’s arm and tell him to _stop_ , _please_ or worse, _let me_. He can’t risk that.

The pressure stops, as do the sparks. He chances a glance down the length of his body and finds Yamaguchi looking at him. He’s biting his lip like he does when he wants to say something, nervous fingers still trilling a melody over the skin of Tsukki’s thigh, but after a moment he shakes his head lightly and returns to the task at hand.

(The first time, he’d been all talk, “is this ok?” and “Tsukki, can I?” and “sorry, sorry” until Tsukishima broke and spat out “shut _up_ , Yamaguchi”, and that was that. Since then, the moment their lips brush is the signal for radio silence. It always seems easier that way. Neither of them is good at keeping their mouths in check.)

Yamaguchi does something clumsy with his teeth that draws a groan from Tsukki’s lips and he flushes, more from embarrassment than pain. He must look a mess.

He was fine with being friends. Friends are transient, brushed easily from the skin. So what if he’d let Yamaguchi linger on his for going on eight years now? If he wanted to, he could end it and never look back. He didn’t owe him anything if all they were was friends. He could leave him behind without a hint of guilt.

Tsukishima releases the bedsheet long enough to poke Yamaguchi in the shoulder, to let him know it’s time to let up. That same hand comes to rest against his forehead, grasping at damp hair. Eyes closed, he releases, and lets himself believe the fireworks behind his eyes are from the way he’s been tugging at his scalp.

When he opens them, Yamaguchi’s hands are busy with a tissue but he’s watching him again. True to their unspoken agreement he doesn’t speak, but he’s grinning like he’s proud of himself for something, and Tsukki has to look away because it shouldn’t send pangs through his heart to see his friend with an expression like that. He could open his mouth, say one stupid thing and take it all away in an instant.

(Shouldn’t he? Wouldn’t it be kinder, in the long run?)

Yamaguchi crawls up and flops against Tsukishima’s chest. He can feel the flush of his cheek where Tsukki’s shirt has bunched up, his lips still curved into a smile.

Tsukishima doesn’t want that smile to crack. That’s the crux of the problem, isn’t it? Because he’s written them both into a situation where it will. And he’ll be the reason.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi mouths into his skin, and he jolts, bracing for a question that doesn’t come. “ _Tsukki_ ,” he breathes again, and presses a kiss into Tsukishima’s collarbone before falling into silence once more.

He sounds happy.

_I don’t care about anyone else._

Tsukishima brings his hand just high enough to rest cautiously on Yamaguchi’s hair. A soft exhale gusts across his chest and his other hand twitches. He’s glad his friend’s eyes are closed, so he can’t see the way his own are trailing down sharp hips and twisted legs (bare, trusting). He feels like a lecher.

_What if I stop caring about you?_

It’s eight o’clock. In two hours his mother will be home and Yamaguchi will have to be wrapped up tightly on a futon on the floor by then, a safe distance away.

“Tsukki?”

There’s the question. He glances down beneath the frames of his glasses. Yamaguchi’s proud expression has evaporated, replaced with the typical mixture of tension and insecurity. He hates that expression. It’s the only thing about Yamaguchi he hates. Nobody would believe that if he told them, probably least of all Yamaguchi.

“You like me, right?”

_Logic: A disdainful huff. “Right. Good one.” A crestfallen face quickly recovered, maybe a few tears but he’d hide them well enough in the bedspread, and then it would all be over and Yamaguchi could go on and find someone kinder. Someone who felt more like they should toward other people._

_Honesty: “I don’t like you. Not your stupid smile, or your stupid knees, or the stupid way you never give up on anything, even assholes like me. I don’t like you at all. I love you, and I hate it, and I hate everything that isn’t you, and I don’t know what to do with that._

_(I’m scared that someday I might hate you too.)_

“Hey,” he says, and pulls Yamaguchi up for a kiss. He’s weak. To take this while he wants it while in two weeks he might not be able to stand the sight of the face he’s got cupped in his palms. He should end it while it will still hurt him to do so.

When he stops loving him, he’s afraid he won’t care enough to spare a thought for Yamaguchi’s feelings at all.

Tsukishima kisses him again, and even smiles a little when Yamaguchi pulls away, bright eyes revived and cheery grin restored.

“Good,” Yamaguchi says, like he’s given him an answer. He doesn’t smile like this for anyone but Tsukki.

_He needs me, certainly._

God, why does he make it so hard not to care? No one else does.

_I need him, maybe._

He can hear the roar of the ocean in his ears. He gives Yamaguchi’s hair a playful tug, and the resulting gasp drowns out the sound, if only for a moment.

_I might not always._

He buries his face in the warmth of Yamaguchi’s neck. The other boy squeaks. Guess he’s just a selfish person, he thinks, and for the first time slips his hand down between them. The breath against his ear grows harsh as his fingers dip past the ring of elastic and make contact.

Give and take. It’s too late to turn back now.

He closes his eyes, and tries not to wonder if someday soon, he’ll leave his friend shattered into a hundred thousand pieces, scattered (discarded) on the shore.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> More an introspective on Tsukishima than anything. I swear, I want only happy things for these two. That doesn't mean I don't think there'd be buckets of confusion and accidental hurt along the way to a functional relationship. They're just two teenagers with a lot to figure out.


End file.
